Potty Training

Ryan now knows that his head will fit through his kiddie toilet seat.

But it will not come back out again.

Note: he was wearing it like a lei, not standing on his head in the bathroom, giving himself a swirlie, cries for help echoing plastically into his portajohnjr.

So that was a fun way to start the vacation. Almost as fun as delaying ourselves 45 minutes looking for one of our cats. I'd packed the van, Ainsley had the kids strapped in, car running, A/C going, but after doing a feline/canine headcount, I was one short. I looked everywhere he usually hangs out, and weird places he doesn't (tubs, closets, guitar cases, garbage disposal). No sign. Ainsley looked. No sign. I was worried that he had run out of the garage door while I was passing in and out with luggage, so I walked up the street to the look down neighbors' yards while Ainsley looked inside top to bottom once again. Finally decided to drive slowly up the street and then try the park and woods behind our house, which confused the dogs no end because they had already started their back yard freedom party. No Tucker. We figured he would show up eventually, and Dad the Ubersitter would find him sitting on the porch that night. We drove one last time back home, letting me check the front hedges again while Ainsley went inside to fetch a cat treat container to shake...

and who should come walking down from upstairs, yawning in a hey, you still here? sort of fashion.

No idea where he had been. Little $*#@.

After dropping off a birthday present for a friend of Ainsley's, we were finally on the road to Barnwhere, where a lunch awaited us. We then split up so we could try to get our kids down for a nap, and I decided, what the hell, first time in years, I'll take a nap, too. It was wonderful. I think I fell asleep before Ryan did. He was probably confused. But we were a tired bunch. Erin ended up sleeping 7 hours straight that night.
Ainsley was probably confused.

Ah-shoot

Why is it that when you want to sneeze quietly, it comes out even louder?

Picasserole

Erin and broccoli. A work of art every time.

She-time

I've happily been able to give Mispouza some down time from time to time after time, i.e., letting her get some rest or go off to run errands leaving me in charge of the 2.2 kids (we round down).
Sunday after the morning of football, Erin fell asleep in the van for a short while, meaning she was in no mood for a nap once she got home. Finally, around 3, Ainsley asked if I could hang out with her while she caught some zeez. We hung out in the basement, she plopped on a bean bag chair for nearly an hour, playing with toys, watching "Pulp Fiction" with me, listening to me playing guitar.
Ryan woke up around 4, so Erin and I fetched him and quickly ushered him to the basement so as not to wake up his mother. Halfway down the stairs he confided in me that he wasn't wearing any pants, but I was also folding laundry downstairs, so I knew where to vector him. We watched The Wiggles and Cars, ate either pretzels and applesaucy oatmeal, depending on one's propensity to chew solids, and let Mom sleep until about 5.

Monday Ainsley needed to pick up some stuff at the store, but didn't have a chance during the day on account of having to hang out at Toyota and take care of a nail slowly bent on destroying the van's right front tire, so she asked to do it when I got home from work. I strapped Erin into the bjorn and played a bit with Ryan before starting dinner for the three of us, only hampered by the fact I couldn't see what was directly in front of me, thanks to Erin Head, so she accidentally got her foot in the tomato sauce.
Double-teamed feeding, throwing mushy broccoli, peas, and green beans to my right and helping Ryan with his baked ziti to my left, then got both of them into the tub and was able to wash them both while simultaneously preventing Ryan's youthful aquatic joi de vivre from knocking Erin's small slippery tooshy over. Got Erin out and wrapped in a towel and onto Ryan's bed, then fished Ryan out, just in time for Ainsley to get back and witness the aftermath on the ground floor, but two happy kids that more than made up for it. Erin ended up sleeping six hours (nearly) straight.

Kidding about that Pulp Fiction deal. I was watching "X-Men" on Fox, but I turned her bean bag chair away from the television. I'm not a total miscreant. Just a partial one.

For the Benefit of Mr. Moss

Having married into a maniacally fanatically exuberant Redskins family, where ~3% of our gross income goes towards life's necessities like Redskins Salt & Pepper shakers, I was not surprised to get the e-mail from my bride requesting that we hit one of the eight open training camp sessions.
Smart enough to avoid the 28,000+ throng at "Fan Appreciation Day", we went this morning instead, with a 7 o'clock planned departure time marred somewhat by the fact that Erin had gotten her mother up at 4.
Seems she was excited to get out to Ashburn, too. Test out her new digs.

Practice started early, around 0830, with stretches and dancing-girl calisthenics, followed by a little Xs versus Os. Not thrilling action, but neat to see the new coach, and be closer to famous players than we'd ever be. Except for that time at Dulles Airport next to Darrel Green.

Still, despite the early hour, this is DC in July, and the humidity levels were through the ... uh ... sky. Sweat stuck to us like glaze on a doughnut, and it was all I could do to keep Erin cool on the Redskins rug under the Redskins umbrella with the Redskins fan operated by Redskins batteries.

The final horn blew, and people started to pack up, though others hugged the walls and yelled for their favorite players to come over to sign autographs. Very few heeded the call, but Ainsley got excited when Santana Moss started heading over towards us.

Not only famous for catching the two fourth-quarter touchdowns to beat the Cowboys 14-13 in September of 2005, but he's also featured in my 16 Jan 06 entry. There were a couple dozen people around him, and with Erin fussing like the hot tater tot that she was, Ainsley was happy to just point him out to Ryan. Ainsley walked Erin around and handed Ryan to me, just as Santana started to break free from the mass of people, heading down the line one by one.

The person in front of me backed away, allowing me to set Ryan down on the fence and lean him back so he could look over at the Football Man. I saw that he had a Sharpee, so I took off Ryan's hat and held out the brim and, as he approached, I asked Ryan if he could say Hi to Mr. Moss. "Hi," said Ryan.
"Hey, what's up, little man?" said the famous millionaire. He signed the hat, and then asked if I wanted him to sign the back of Ryan's shirt, too. I said that'd be great. Scribblescribblescribble89, it says in both places.
And suddenly, it didn't seem all that hot anymore.

$723.07

I am SO on board with this piggy bank deal.
And the Foulds tradition of never leaving a sidewalk penny unpocketed.
For nearly four years, the wife's Redskins (blow me down!) coin-saver gargantuan plastic bottle thingy has been collecting the fruits of our frugality, the leftover loot, the remains of the day. As it was getting nearly too heavy to pick up, I decided we should go ahead and cash it in.
Over five thousand coins. Incredible. We were making such a ruckus at the "Penny Arcade" that the bank manager asked if we needed any assistance. And gave Ryan and Erin new piggy banks to start them on their way to savings. Ryan was so psyched, he blew her a kiss.
He's funny that way.

We probably should have skipped the lollipop, though, since the buzz from it kept him powering through his allotted naptime, much to the grin-free chagrin of the rest of his family. So we took him to the pool to burn off more energy (with Ainsley berating me because Ryan took it upon himself to gun-point and wink-click at a couple ladies he saw sitting on the ledge) and stole Dad's oven to cook some lasagne and his dogpoopless back yard to kick a green ball around. And also sometimes to accidentally step on the ball and then faceplant on the grass. Which is why I never liked the term 'be on the ball'. It's dangerous. I also read somewhere that lollipop is the longest word you can type with just your right hand. you phony unklop numilopiujhm
Yep, that seems accurate. I forget the left hand one.
berated traders erased
I could probably figure it out if it weren't dark in here. Griffin and I should go to bed.
Of course, there's the web, which means we never have to think ever ever, which suggests aggregated, sweaterdresses, and something called "aftercateracts".
It also has words longer than lollipop, to include PHYLLOPHYLLIN, which is just cheating in Scrabble.
The website I saw also has a sentence entirely made up of the right hand: In July, oh my kill-joy Molly, I’ll look in upon my jumpy polo pony up in hilly Honolulu.
Okay, I could be looking at this website for stupid stuff all night. So you do it instead. Someone send me the Cliff's Notes.
http://jeff560.tripod.com/words.html

I mount a chronic fist-o

Went to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda today to meet a National Naval Hand Specialist, a congenial Captain from the old school, by which I mean he had real trouble trying to figure out how his computer works. Instead of ejecting my CD, he hit the 'off' button.
He's not sure what's going on -- still have the pain when I press my hand back (like sitting on the edge of a swimming pool), with occasional sharp, snaring pain, as if the muscle in the back of my hand had gotten snagged on barbed wire. Happened this morning when I was performing that most difficult and challenging feat of strength and dexterity: drying off in the shower.
He saw a discoloration in one of the images that makes him think that the cartilage around the joint has worn down. It's not a big joint, doesn't move that much, but being damaged may cause the pain. Wants me on high-dose Ibuprofen for 4-6 weeks before contemplating computerized x-rays for more clarity, with surgery/bone graphs/pins/amputation all options down the road.

The offending medicarpus. Or whatever.

In the diagnosive notes he printed out for me, he wrote that we "can't rule out narrowing od [sic] 3rd CMCJ with presence of a 3x3mm subchondral cyst," and I would certainly agree.

But look who loves his wife so much he won't take off his ring even for x-rays.

Two for Two

We're batting a thousand since Tuesday night, with Erin actually sleeping Super Big Size Chunks o' time without being wide awake and cranky for a couple hours in the middle of the night, which had been the standard since, oh, Christmas. So we're actually two for two hundred and thirteen, but who's counting?

Ainsley awoke on her own at 1:42 this morning to discover that Erin had been asleep a whole three hours straight, and she (Ainsley) was compelled to poke me on the shoulder awake to let me know. And not an attention-getting, light, *ahem* of an excuse me tap tap tap, but the kind of poke you give a boar lying in the woods with a long stick to see if it's really dead. push push push.

I was overjoyed for the approximately six seconds I stayed awake.

Unhidden talents

I wonder if the ability to wiggle your ears is hereditary.
I'm working on it with Ryan. He usually resorts to using his hands.

I've also gotten him to point with his thumb up, like a gun, close one eye, and click his tongue to his teeth. For the ladies. You know. Ainsley claims he walked in the room and did it to her the other day. Joe Cool.

We're Going With Larry

Anyone know the name of the guy not named Sam in that green egg-pushing Seusssian tale?

Scorched Earth Policy

It's a little warm. Triple-digit heat indexes, with quadruple-digit humidity. But hey, I'm not stationed in Greenland, so I shouldn't complain. (Hi, David!)
We escaped the heat on Sunday by taking a dip in the pool in my Dad's housing complex -- a large pool with wonderfully warm water, its size magnified by the fact that we were the only ones there for the first thirty minutes, until a woman with a leopard-spot one-piece and dark hairy legs decided to join us. Ryan had a blast swimming on his own time, still happy to jump in with wild abandon. Their rules wouldn't allow him to jump off the diving board, so he jumped from the side over and over and over. One time with me next to him instead of in the water, all Thelma and Louise-like.
Grandad was even nice enough to splash around in the wading pool with Erin so Ainsley could take a dip and throw her water-logged son back and forth with me. Which has to look odd from the lifeguard's perspective. Shoving a toddler towards a ladder in the hopes that big mo or little legs take him all the way to the steps.
Ironically, the toy in the kid's meal for lunch was a little plastic Ronald McDonald riding a dolphin.

Boot Camp for Tots

Ainsley wanted to go pick up pictures at the mall, so he took Ryan and left me with a sleeping Erin.
Who woke up as her mother was backing out of the driveway.
So back she came (I called screaming WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS THING??!!), allowing us to make it a family outing. One of the last in the Escape, since the mini-van was in for scheduled maintenance and bunburning apparati installation.
Can't believe I ever considered the Escape big enough to be 'the family car'. Maybe we're just spoiled with the Sienna, but man. If Ryan kicks that chair one more time... at least it was nice to have Erin within arm's reach for a bit.
Spent the afternoon cleaning up the workshop (three boxes from DTRA have been sitting on the workbench for over a month), then went to wake Ryan up so we could go to his friend Jonathan's 3rd Birthday Party at Gymboree (tee emm). "Isn't that exCITING!?!" I asked the lump in the bed.
"Daddy...*pause for sigh*...be quiet."
For some reason Ainsley found that response rather hilarious.
The party was held in a colorful romper room of mats, slides, balls, cushions, and various other obstacles, with a 'Miss Marissa' leading the seven or so youngsters through a succession of silly follow-the-leader or 'rescue the stuffed' animals games. So pretty much like field training, without the machine gun fire.
Learned that Ryan isn't so good at following/listening to directions (from strangers, at least), but he does well copying what others are doing. Based on his daredevil diving from last week, he had no problem jumping three feet off a structure into an inner tube on a thick mat covered in a parachute fabric, time and again, though he had issues with the monkey bars-under-the-tent thing ("Go again?" "No tenk you."). He enjoyed being told where to find the animals and put them in the barrel, but would just as soon run around in a circle and let the birthday boy chase him. Especially if he could get a glimpse of himself in the mirror on every turn.
Erin was enjoying herself, too, playing with a big purple rubber ball with thirty-eight nipples on it (heaven!) and being doted on by grandparents who thought she was the bees knees. Whatever that means. It was just hard to find a place on the floor where toddlers wouldn't be running by at thirty mph, capes flapping behind them.
At one point, Miss Marissa stretched out the parachute on the big mat and said she needed the parents to join in and
YAY!
someone said. I'm not saying who.
We got to bounce beach balls around, and then the kids were invited to roll into the middle so we could wave the parachute around with them, but Ryan didn't care for that too much. Thankfully, he's of the temperament that he doesn't immediately start crying -- he says, rather low-voiced and methodically, "I would like to get out, please."
Other than that, I think he had a great time. I'm glad he can play well with others, and also enjoy running around by himself and not being a sheep. I liked watching him interact with Jonathan, who asked if he could follow Ryan up and down the slide. "Oh, sure," Ryan replied. Ryan even went so far as to help blow out his birthday candles. What a great helper.
Took him home for a bath, which is an adventure now that he's discovered swimming... "Ryan, we don't splash in here. Just in pools," I say, water dripping from my shirt sleeves and forehead.

My son, the harpoon

Well, so much for the gingerly plops from Daddy's hands off of the diving board. Mr. Louganis can spring off himself, thank you very much.
You know how hard it is to tread water while holding a 35-pounder above the surface with extended arms?
Don't try it. I about blew a spleen, peddling so hard.
Ryan amazed us both with his enthusiasm and bravery in the pool, now happily jumping off the side with wild abandon, and able to scrounge his way back up to the surface without needing me to pull him up. The last two nights, we hogged the corner of the pool, where Ryan would jump in to me, paddle up so his head was above water, I'd suspend him on his belly, and throw him like a dart towards the ladder so he'd have to kick the last yard or so to reach the steps. He'd pull himself out, and giddily run back to the edge to do it again. I finally told him he didn't need the middle man -- just jump in and then swim back to the ladder. "1-2-3-Go!" I'd say nonchalantly from the edge, not even watching. "Guess I'll go get my kid," I said to Logan's mom, after I'd hear a splash, and then reach over a finger to pull him up.
After the trepidation at the Great Wolf Lodge, and the hostility he'd shown towards the noodle concept early on, we were pleased to see him turn around 8 days later and be someone who needed to jump off the diving board five times in a row. The instructor called him 'a real success story.' Yes, well, prove it. Where's the certificate? Distinguished Graduate? Hello?
We celebrated by going to a Mexican restaurant with one of his classmates, which meant we didn't drive home until after 9:30. With Ryan, helpful as ever, narrating his life.
"Erin has the hiccups!"
"Hic!"
"There's a hiccup!"
"...Hic!"
"There's another hiccup!"
"...Hic!"
"There's another hiccup!"
"Ryan..."

The DoD Museum

One of the unique things about being in the military is being around people who aren't. I enjoy their perspective, and often ask colleagues what transformed them from being a punk-ass civilian high school student to a boot-wearing officer of action. It's probably akin to why I enjoy reading presidential biographies so much. Learning in reverse how these 42 unique individuals became extraordinary citizens from common, everyday people.
Andrew Jackson killed a guy! After taking the dude's first bullet in a duel! This so impresses me more than it does Ainsley.
Anyhoo, today I got the opportunity to give a friend of a friend from college a short tour of the Pentagon with her sister's family. They were blown away by the history, the military art, the grandeur. We were very fortunate on the "E Ring", when a Master Sergeant asked where they were from and guided us into his boss' office -- the Secretary of the Air Force (who wasn't in). Heck, I told them, even I'd never been in that room before. (It's about the size of one level of my house.)
I had to scoot to a meeting, so they only got to see about 6% of the joint, but were effusive with their thanks. When in all actuality it was my day that had been made.

I second that

"Mommy! Come sit by the water! With no shirt!"

Go, Fish.

Ryan jumped off the diving board this evening.

Okay, the massive gravitational pull of the earth took hold of him at a rate of 32 feet per second per second as he let go of my hand and gingerly stepped off the end of the diving board onto a waiting noodle. But still.

That was something I was too chicken doot to do when I was 5.

He's also gotten better at jumping to me in the water without holding my hands, though he may have just been showing off for his Grandad who'd stopped by to watch. But rather than just fall down into me and strain to keep his chin above water, his first jump yesterday was a spring-in-the-knee toddler arc that caught me by surprise -- he nearly flew over my shoulder.

He's getting a little giddy with it now, freaking his mother out.

"Ready?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay, 1..."
*sploosh*

"2..." I say, as I pull him out from a foot below the water surface.

Check the Halls

Continuing to adjust to life at the Pentagon, where construction has made almost every floor look the same; it's easy to get turned around. Today I walked for ten minutes looking for a room before realizing I was on the wrong level. I've been brave enough, though, in the past three days, to ask two other people who looked lost if I could help them find something. I feel it's my duty. They're Americans. I work for the people. (music swells)
Starting to fall into old slugging bad habits, like forgetting my sunglasses in the car if it's cloudy in the morning, so that drive into the glaring sun in the afternoon is neither a hoot nor a hoot and a half. I also seem to not have enough gum around after my morning tea (which, in and of itself, is a challenge I'd forgotten about -- now that I'm no longer driving 12 miles to Ft Belvoir, I need to make it smaller or colder in the morning, so I'm not having to gulp it down in the parking lot. Burning my tongue).
Also coming to realize that I no longer have easy access to a commissary or the ability to take a big load of clothes to the cleaners, but on the flipside, our bank is right there in the building, as is a barber shop and drug store, which DTRA didn't have.
Finally made it to the gym this morning, and it hasn't really changed in three years. I even recognized some of the janitors. Gonna have to try and see when the spinning classes are, if the wrist can take it.
I did a Staff Summary Sheet today. Haven't done that in years!

Took them out to this..."ball" game

Next task on this weird list of taxpayers pay me to do? Go to a baseball game.
I still didn't have e-mail access established (after three days), so I wasn't getting much done, other than entertain the NCO with my ability to wiggle one or both ears. But at 4, I got to don my gay apparel, Washington Nationals-style, to take a dozen or so attaches and families to, in many cases, not just Nationals Stadium for the first time, but their first baseball game ever.
After enjoying a huge buffet of burgers, dawgs, sawsages, chili, salads, watermelon, and cookies in one of the conference rooms, we let the attaches go explore the stadium and find their way back to our seats, on the 2nd level all the way down the left-field line.
I was looking forward to standing between the Turks and the Portuguese to explain the infield-fly rule, but ended up close to the Australian family of four, also rookies, but with nary a question. I did end up telling the boss' daughter what a 'slugging percentage' is.
We were a little worried going in, since the Nationals are statistically the worst team in baseball, but the Houston Astros aren't beating down any playoff doors, either, and we managed to squeak out a 10-0 victory. It was actually a very long (3+ hours), slow game, with the occasional homerun and the 5-run 6th to keep us going. It was slow enough that I yelled at the jumbotron when it showed some guy during 'wave your hat!' time who was spinning his hat half-assed while talking to his son next to him ("You're Not Even Looking!!") and then got into an argument with a coworker who insisted that ice cream in French is "creme glacee /cdemm glassay/" when I remembered it as simply "glace /glass/" She was rather insistent, but I explained to her that in the movie "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" they kidnapped Napoleon himself, who called it "la glace."
She said, "He was Corsican, not French."
I more enjoyed watching the foreign families' reaction to the between-inning antics, the Presidential Mannequin Race, the wave, the T-shirt-shooting bazooka, the Seventh Inning Stretch, the fireworks. So besides some double-A American A-holes throwing a cup of ice from the third deck onto the Croatian and his wife, it was a fun time. But I didn't get home until just before midnight. That's a long day's work! And doubly sad, since I didn't get to see Ryan all day. :(

Warriors

The call went out for people to participate in the latest "Parade of Heroes" in one of the halls of the Pentagon, as several "Wounded Warriors" from Walter Reed or Bethesda Naval Hospital were brought in to meet with one of the "Top 4" (SecDef, Deputy SecDef, Chairman of Joint Chiefs, his deputy) and be given a hero's welcome. A guy in my office went to the last one and said there were barely enough people to fill the hallway, but yesterday morning there were people two-deep down the entire corridor -- we had to find a spot in the back of the line that had wrapped down into the "A" ring. Slowly pushed on wheelchairs, we were all able to shake the troops' hands as applause rang through the entire building. Guys missing legs, fingers, severe burns, blown out eyes. And modestly thanking us as we shook their hands. Imagine.
Sometimes I'm still amazed at what I do for a living, and how lucky I am that others have been sent to fight in my stead.

Duncan Doughboy

Ryan's still doing well with his "lessons", sarcastically finger-quoted in the air since there really isn't organized instruction to it all. Just a bunch of parents catching and pulling and holding their kids and encouraging fun. He's still not quite jumping into the water like other kids (if I take a step back from the ledge, he says, "No, right here," as he bends over and points to the wall beneath his feet), but he's not afraid to get his head a bit under water. Still can't get him to keep his mouth closed, though. And he's going to have chlorine-stained retinas after these two weeks are up. But tonight, I was able to pull him under one of the plastic lane divider rope thingies (twice!), so we're making progress. We knew he was ready for all this nautiness last weekend when, while showing off to his grandmother how he could walk backwards in the kitchen, he ended up ass-deep in the dogs' water bowls.

Slugain

Like an old, comfortable shoe that saves you gas money, I have returned to the world-famous (thanks to a recent CNN story) I-95 corridor "Slug Lines", driving but a few miles to a park-n-hitch lot, then being temporarily kidnapped for the thirty-mile drive up to the Pentagon. I broke all sorts of protocol by actually speaking to someone in line, just to ensure that the pick-up point at the end of the day was in the same place it was three years ago. Save a few different walking routes due to construction, it was deja do all over again. In fact, I chuckled to realize, when I was dropped off back in the parking lot at the end of the day, in my mind's eye, I was looking for my Thunderbird.

The day was a bit of a cluster, unable to get a computer account or badge access to my office, so I had to keep ringing the doorbell to be let in. Plus it took me three tries to even get my badge, since the first time it was closed and the second time I didn't have the DD Form 2249 no one in my office told me I needed. The guy the third time asked if I wanted to keep my photo from four years ago, and I said, "No, let's go ahead and take a new one," and he proceeded to print out the old one. So I have the face of some 33-year-old Major walking around with me all the time now.

Still, it's cool to be back in the ol' Headquarters. First person I saw off the escalator was the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force. I can't shake a stick in the hallway without hitting a general or being told to put the stick down, and I'm sure I'll keep running into people I know, like today's guy from Minot and a girl who was in my ROTC detachment at IU.

Wayul Tayul

To celebrate the last day of my four-day weekend, we took the kids to a local Waterpark just a few minutes from the house. Ryan has been there several times with his wee midget friends, but this was our first opportunity to go as a family. What a difference a lack of an Ocean and not being 9 months old makes! Wading out waist-deep into 1-foot water, "floating" on his belly in three-inch water, a determined, clenched-but-smiling jaw hovering above the waves. He ran over to the whale slide and said hello to the tail, but for some reason, after crawling up the side steps, didn't want to go cavorting down the tongue.
(This sure beats the set-up at an inflatable gymboree I saw in North Dakota, where you crawled in through the whale's mouth and slid out its anus.)
Neither Ryan or Erin bothered to take a nap, but Mommy got in a quick hour before we turned around and threw everyone back in the car for Ryan's first organized extended sporting event -- eight days of swimming lessons for wayward tots.
Day one consisted of just bouncing up and down and walking around in a big circle around the instructor, a "Mister Evan", to get acclimated to the water temperature. We then practiced slipping into the water from the ledge into Daddy's hands on a count of 3 (we were going to do 'Ready, Set, Go', but I kept saying 'Ready?' to see if he was ready, and then it just sounded repetitive). We were supposed to let the kids 'fall' deeper and deeper into the water, to get the feel for water in the lower face, but Ryan is a rather buoyant little lad. He tends to bob like a log. But he was still enjoying himself. He even let me grab his hands and pull him around while he kicked in the water, sometimes back behind him, sometimes straight up and down, bicycle style (which is dangerous for the puller).
Then Evan brought out the long, colored, foam 'noodles' for the kids to grab onto and float above, but after doing it once, Ryan wanted to hold it like a fishing pole, up in the air, and was pretty much done with this swimming nonsense. It was his only crying of the night, with constant 'no's to every possible option I was offering. Including letting him hold it like a fishing pole.
It was near the end of the session anyway, so we got him all dried and changed, and as we were leaving, we learned that Ryan was at least somewhat paying attention, as he said to his teacher, "G'BYE MISTER NOODLE!!!"

Are we there yet?

So I saw another sign for "Dippin' Dots -- Ice Cream of the Future."

Have I not been seeing that sign since it first showed up in malls in the early 90s? When do we officially cross that "Ice Cream of Now" dateline? You didn't see Mercury calling the Tracer the "Hatchback of the Future" during the first Bush administration, did you?

Did some snooping around on their website. Here are some tidbits:

1987 -- Microbiologist Curt Jones begins research to cryogenically freeze ice cream mix into small beads

1995 -- New 32,000 sq. ft. production facility opens in Paducah

2003 -- Company constructs largest -50°F commercial walk-in freezer in North America at its Kentucky facility.
(which saves me having to do further research to figure out where the hell Paducah is.)

2006 -- Dippin' Dots available in The Netherlands

2008 -- Appearing in "Modern Marvels" show about the History of Ice Cream (check local listings)

Why I should only be allowed around Nuclear Weapons

So we're waiting for brunch to arrive at the Silver Diner, and Ryan's chewing on a honey graham cracker, and Erin's on my other side, all *blink* *blink* num num num so sure, you're on solid foods and bread seems to be one of your favorites, so here, have a penny-sized morsel.

Well.

Something that somehow never came up during Air War College studies:

The natural sweetener (honey) can contain the spores of a bacteria called Clostridium botulinum, the culprit behind the illness known as botulism. If these spores are ingested by a baby, they can grow in her intestines, where they'll produce botulism toxin, a highly poisonous substance that may gradually paralyze all the muscles in her body.

Thank God one of us is smart, as Ainsley Bruce Lee'd the cracker out of my hand. Orally. Protective, this one. Thankfully, an enema wasn't needed for dessert.

Oh Crappy Night

Well, it was one of those nights that you wonder why anyone ever puts Tab A into Slot B.
Erin was just about asleep, but Dover had crawled under the bed before going outside -- didn't want him waking us up at 2am having to say howdy to a tree, so I tried to whisperly coax him out (he's still petrified at the possibility of fireworks), and when that didn't work, I grabbed his collar, but he growled, snarled, yapped, and shrieked at me in the span of two seconds, so Erin was just about not asleep.
Ainsley finally got her down, but thanks to inappropriate gastrointestinal events, she was up again a little after ten, and then Wide Awake How's It Goin Hey Neat Watch Wow Furry Chest Daddy What Time Is It Oh Look Toes until close to 1am. That lasted until 4, when she was up again, and while Ainsley and I took turns getting her to fall asleep in our arms, as soon as we tried to lay her down, she'd start the hysterics again. I had her asleep in her rocking chair on my lap for about twenty minutes, but that killed my back, so I was able to lie down with her in the crux of my armpit for another fifteen or so. Finally gave up at brought her downstairs, asleep while held, watching news, sports, weather, and VH1 classic, which she found intriguing once she finally woke woke around quarter to seven.
Good time to have a day off, no?

Oh Happy Day

Slept 9 hours. Nine! "Eight?" NEIN!
I'm not bragging, gloating, rubbing it in. I just needed that, is all I'm saying.
The Fouldses left after a breakfast of prosciutto e melone (LOVE this Wegman's thing!), which allowed us a lovely lazy Sunday at home, save for meeting up with Ron & Angela for lunch (Hi, Kristen!) I mean, when the kids were down for afternoon naps, I sat in the basement, surfing itunes and watching a movie! For fun! I haven't done that since
Hmm.
If you don't count recuperating from surgery or being home sick, I honestly don't know. Haven't a clue. College?
When everyone got up, we took a stroll down to the park so both could swing and Ryan could bounce his superball on the tennis courts, before having a light dinner of chicken fajitas in the sunroom (Erin sucked on a pepper). I gave Erin a bath, which she seemed to enjoy, and I hung out with her in her room for a half-hour, just giving her new little toys to shake and shake and shake, Ryan crawling over my hips crashing two of his three Lightning McQueens together, the three dogs lying around me on the floor. Just a lovely, carefree night. So nice to not be packing for a trip (not that I've unpacked from my last one yet), studying for a test, wrapping presents, or worrying that the house is falling apart. It was a perfect summer day. Even into which a little rain must fell. Or something famously poetic like that.

Another last week

I started outprocessing on Monday, which just meant going to various offices and getting them to initial a piece of paper confirming I had no ties left, plus I finally got to turn in all my bulky Votkinsk clothing issue that had been stuck in a drawer at work for six months. Attended a TSgt's tearful retirement ceremony, then started to transition the last of my workload over to other guys in the office.
Got home to see the in-laws and nephewlaw back from the barn on their way back to Seattle, to celebrate The Birthday some more, with presents, a light dinner at Uno's and homemade 'Miss Toni's' cheesecake.
It was a strange last full week (such as it was with the holiday Friday), with outprocessing not taking much time and working right up until the end on last-minute taskers due next week when almost everyone else will be out of the office, too, so after hitting 'send' on my last e-mail, it was just a couple handshakes and g'bye. Then it's hellos at the new job on Wednesday.
Met up with the family at Fair Oaks Mall to take some portraits, and while Erin wasn't a smiling fiend, at least she wasn't bawling her eyes out, so we'll take that. She really is a happy girl from time to time. Honest.
On the 4th, Ainsley and her Mother went to the recently opened local Wegman's superstore while Ryan, Erin and I hung out, trimmed azaleas, threw balls, and pooped. I spent the afternoon on furry hands and knees cleaning out the deepest darkest crevices of the dog's room/workshop, but I still need a few more days in there to get stuff organized (it's been a repository of crap from my desk at work while I transition). We were able to get kids down at 9ish, but Erin kept waking up, and Ryan was too jazzed to sleep -- the neighborhood fireworks didn't help -- and he didn't konk out until after 11.
We did the family barbecue thing Saturday, with the Boivins (at 75% strength) and Wysongs coming over to help try a cheese-stuffed red salsa burger recipe that were an awful lot of work for not a lot of payoff. Plus Ryan called my dog a 'dork', so Ainsley has some explaining to do. We were just glad that the rain held off on one of our cookouts, for once.
It occurred to me, going to sleep before 10, that I'd been at my house for over 48 hours straight. Can't remember the last time that's happened.